This story is by Betty Badgett and was part of our 2017 Spring Writing Contest. You can find all the Spring Writing Contest stories here.
It’s cold here. I can’t move. My hands and feet are bound. I’m screaming but no one hears. I’m next door.
I’m hidden in my neighbors apartment praying that someone comes looking for me.
I woke up this morning, kissed my husband Jackson, got out of bed, and headed to the kitchen to prepare
breakfast for us and our son Jackson Jr. (JJ), as we like to call him.
We’ve been married for ten years. Last summer we moved here on Merritt
Lane, a gated apartment complex in Rutherford, New Jersey. The streets are lined with maple and poplar trees. The
historic brownstones resemble those in uptown Harlem, New York.
We moved here to shelter JJ from the rough urban communities that we both grew up in. This community was
a montage of ethnic groups. There were delicatessens, Italian restaurants, and old bodega’s The smells of
Hispanic food seeping into the streets and awakening my senses, mixed with the smells of
meatballs and spaghetti from the Italian eatery was almost to much to absorb. We loved the rich mixed culture of this
neighborhood.
The first neighbor to greet us was Mr. Walters across the street. He was a senior citizen living with his wife
Agnes. They didn’t get out much, but waved at us from their front window. The next neighbor was a bit strange
in that he never spoke and would often look away when he caught you making eye contact.. He appeared to be a
middle aged man who lived alone and had no friends or family to speak of. Jackson and I often talked about how lonely
he must be rattling around in that big apartment by himself. We never saw anyone coming or going so we thought to
ourselves, how sad. Then there were the Nichol’s who lived two complexes down. They had two children, two cats
and a large German Shepard that barked when ever he heard the children playing.
As time went on, we became friends with everyone except Mr.Peters, the strange neighbor that lived across the street.
He watch everyone on the block as though he was the self appointed neighborhood watch. He could
often be seen walking down the quiet tree lined street after dark softly humming a tune and not making eye contact
with anyone passing by.
One morning after Jackson left to drop JJ at school and make his way to work, I noticed Mr. Peters staring through
his living room window directly across to my front door. I waved to let him know I saw him, and expected him
to return the wave, perhaps with a smile. Sadly, there was neither a smile or a wave. I closed the door. walked
back into the apartment and began watering the plants hanging in front of the huge picture window. I had made a
large apple sauce crumb cake and decided maybe now would be the perfect time to take him some cake and extend
the olive branch of friendship.
I threw on a pair of gray slacks, pulled my hair up in a pony tail and rubbed on a small amount of pink blush lipstick.
I walked out the kitchen door and headed across the street to introduce myself to the elusive neighbor Mr. Peters.
I cleared my throat, mustered an ounce of courage to walk across the street and ring the bell.
He opened the door and glared at me, looking deep into my eyes past the optic lens and the retina that reflects light,
and into what felt like my soul.
“Mr. Peters, hi, I’m your neighbor from across the street. My name is Samantha Crosby. I just wanted to introduce
myself. I baked an apple sauce cake and brought you some as a way to say welcome.”
He continued to stare for a moment and then his gaze softened.
“Thank you. Would you like to come in?” He asked.
“Well, I don’t want to intrude, I just wanted to introduce myself and welcome you to the neighborhood.”
“I tell you what Ms. Samantha Crosby, if you come in for a moment so we can get acquainted, I promise to try this
cake right now.” He said, as a smile broke through.
I suddenly felt the wall of fear and anxiety I had been feeling begin to crumble. What could it hurt to cross his
threshold and be neighborly for just a few moments.
I walked in and noticed how sterile his apartment looked. There wasn’t much furniture in the living room. No pictures
on the walls, and no plants hanging. I hadn’t noticed a woman coming or going so I assumed he was probably
single. From the looks of things I was right. Thick gray drapes hung from the large living room windows, as if to hide
the few pieces of furniture that lined the walls. A stale smell circulated the room and assaulted my senses. The walls
were painted a drab color of green. This place could certainly use a woman’s touch. He pulled out a bottle of chilled
Bellingers Red Moscato wine from the refrigerator and slowly poured two glasses of wine.
“Please join me. I really appreciate you coming over and bringing this delicious cake.” He said.
The smile widened, as he stared at me with a piercing gaze. We began talking and soon I felt myself
relax. I found out that he was divorced and had moved here from North Carolina. Moments later the wine began
to take affect. I felt the floor soften under my feet. I tried to stand but my knees began wobbling. I thought that
now was as good a time as any to thank him for his hospitality and head back across the street.
Suddenly I couldn’t stand. I edged my way over to the couch and lowered myself onto the soft blue cushions. What’s
happening I thought. I only had one glass of wine. This was embarrassing. I stared at him wanting to apologize
for how ridiculous I must look. I saw something sinister in his eyes. The smile was gone.
I reached for the couch as I tried to steady myself. Darkness began to fill the room, slowly causing his face to
disappear. I heard laughter in the distance. I tried to scream, yell, walk, but darkness over took me.
“Oh God, what’s happening?” I heard myself utter.
My hands and feet were bound tightly. I could feel pain shooting from my ankles to my legs. Where am I?
I tried to remember what had taken place. One moment I was sipping a glass of wine, and the next I’m tide and
bound in a dark room. What was he going to do to me? Why didn’t I fight back?
“Help me God.” I screamed.
No one answered. This had to be a nightmare that would soon end.
Suddenly, the sound of a door creaking and a tiny glimmer of light seeped through the dark space. I screamed,
I yelled, I cried.
A moment of silence, and then the smell of cigarettes and wine infiltrated the room. Foot steps came closer towards
me. I yelled one last time, as I felt something hit my head. Darkness enveloped me with the warmth of a passionate
lover. I had to get out of here, but how?
The sound of a fire engine blaring through the street awakened me. I tried to move, but my hands and feet were still
bound. Silence surrounded me.
Suddenly the sounds of screams filled the air around me. Something was on fire, I could smell the smoke.
A loud bang seem to shake the room. I could hear voices in the distance.
“Is anyone here?” someone yelled.
“Help, please help.” I yelled back. I inched along the wall hoping I’d somehow reach a door. Smoke began to fill the
room.
“Help” I continued to yell.
The smell of smoke began choking me. I couldn’t catch my breath.
“Over here” I heard someone yell as I gave in to the darkness as I felt myself being lifted.
It’s cold here. I can’t move. My hands and feet are bound. I’m screaming but no one hears. I’m next door.
I’m hidden in my neighbors apartment praying that someone comes looking for me.
I woke up this morning, kissed my husband Jackson, got out of bed, and headed to the kitchen to prepare
breakfast for us and our son Jackson Jr. (JJ), as we like to call him.
We’ve been married for ten years. Last summer we moved here on Merritt
Lane, a gated apartment complex in Rutherford, New Jersey. The streets are lined with maple and poplar trees. The
historic brownstones resemble those in uptown Harlem, New York.
We moved here to shelter JJ from the rough urban communities that we both grew up in. This community was
a montage of ethnic groups. There were delicatessens, Italian restaurants, and old bodega’s The smells of
Hispanic food seeping into the streets and awakening my senses, mixed with the smells of
meatballs and spaghetti from the Italian eatery was almost to much to absorb. We loved the rich mixed culture of this
neighborhood.
The first neighbor to greet us was Mr. Walters across the street. He was a senior citizen living with his wife
Agnes. They didn’t get out much, but waved at us from their front window. The next neighbor was a bit strange
in that he never spoke and would often look away when he caught you making eye contact.. He appeared to be a
middle aged man who lived alone and had no friends or family to speak of. Jackson and I often talked about how lonely
he must be rattling around in that big apartment by himself. We never saw anyone coming or going so we thought to
ourselves, how sad. Then there were the Nichol’s who lived two complexes down. They had two children, two cats
and a large German Shepard that barked when ever he heard the children playing.
As time went on, we became friends with everyone except Mr.Peters, the strange neighbor that lived across the street.
He watch everyone on the block as though he was the self appointed neighborhood watch. He could
often be seen walking down the quiet tree lined street after dark softly humming a tune and not making eye contact
with anyone passing by.
One morning after Jackson left to drop JJ at school and make his way to work, I noticed Mr. Peters staring through
his living room window directly across to my front door. I waved to let him know I saw him, and expected him
to return the wave, perhaps with a smile. Sadly, there was neither a smile or a wave. I closed the door. walked
back into the apartment and began watering the plants hanging in front of the huge picture window. I had made a
large apple sauce crumb cake and decided maybe now would be the perfect time to take him some cake and extend
the olive branch of friendship.
I threw on a pair of gray slacks, pulled my hair up in a pony tail and rubbed on a small amount of pink blush lipstick.
I walked out the kitchen door and headed across the street to introduce myself to the elusive neighbor Mr. Peters.
I cleared my throat, mustered an ounce of courage to walk across the street and ring the bell.
He opened the door and glared at me, looking deep into my eyes past the optic lens and the retina that reflects light,
and into what felt like my soul.
“Mr. Peters, hi, I’m your neighbor from across the street. My name is Samantha Crosby. I just wanted to introduce
myself. I baked an apple sauce cake and brought you some as a way to say welcome.”
He continued to stare for a moment and then his gaze softened.
“Thank you. Would you like to come in?” He asked.
“Well, I don’t want to intrude, I just wanted to introduce myself and welcome you to the neighborhood.”
“I tell you what Ms. Samantha Crosby, if you come in for a moment so we can get acquainted, I promise to try this
cake right now.” He said, as a smile broke through.
I suddenly felt the wall of fear and anxiety I had been feeling begin to crumble. What could it hurt to cross his
threshold and be neighborly for just a few moments.
I walked in and noticed how sterile his apartment looked. There wasn’t much furniture in the living room. No pictures
on the walls, and no plants hanging. I hadn’t noticed a woman coming or going so I assumed he was probably
single. From the looks of things I was right. Thick gray drapes hung from the large living room windows, as if to hide
the few pieces of furniture that lined the walls. A stale smell circulated the room and assaulted my senses. The walls
were painted a drab color of green. This place could certainly use a woman’s touch. He pulled out a bottle of chilled
Bellingers Red Moscato wine from the refrigerator and slowly poured two glasses of wine.
“Please join me. I really appreciate you coming over and bringing this delicious cake.” He said.
The smile widened, as he stared at me with a piercing gaze. We began talking and soon I felt myself
relax. I found out that he was divorced and had moved here from North Carolina. Moments later the wine began
to take affect. I felt the floor soften under my feet. I tried to stand but my knees began wobbling. I thought that
now was as good a time as any to thank him for his hospitality and head back across the street.
Suddenly I couldn’t stand. I edged my way over to the couch and lowered myself onto the soft blue cushions. What’s
happening I thought. I only had one glass of wine. This was embarrassing. I stared at him wanting to apologize
for how ridiculous I must look. I saw something sinister in his eyes. The smile was gone.
I reached for the couch as I tried to steady myself. Darkness began to fill the room, slowly causing his face to
disappear. I heard laughter in the distance. I tried to scream, yell, walk, but darkness over took me.
“Oh God, what’s happening?” I heard myself utter.
My hands and feet were bound tightly. I could feel pain shooting from my ankles to my legs. Where am I?
I tried to remember what had taken place. One moment I was sipping a glass of wine, and the next I’m tide and
bound in a dark room. What was he going to do to me? Why didn’t I fight back?
“Help me God.” I screamed.
No one answered. This had to be a nightmare that would soon end.
Suddenly, the sound of a door creaking and a tiny glimmer of light seeped through the dark space. I screamed,
I yelled, I cried.
A moment of silence, and then the smell of cigarettes and wine infiltrated the room. Foot steps came closer towards
me. I yelled one last time, as I felt something hit my head. Darkness enveloped me with the warmth of a passionate
lover. I had to get out of here, but how?
The sound of a fire engine blaring through the street awakened me. I tried to move, but my hands and feet were still
bound. Silence surrounded me.
Suddenly the sounds of screams filled the air around me. Something was on fire, I could smell the smoke.
A loud bang seem to shake the room. I could hear voices in the distance.
“Is anyone here?” someone yelled.
“Help, please help.” I yelled back. I inched along the wall hoping I’d somehow reach a door. Smoke began to fill the
room.
“Help” I continued to yell.
The smell of smoke began choking me. I couldn’t catch my breath.
“Over here” I heard someone yell as I gave in to the darkness as I felt myself being lifted.
It’s cold here. I can’t move. My hands and feet are bound. I’m screaming but no one hears. I’m next door.
I’m hidden in my neighbors apartment praying that someone comes looking for me.
I woke up this morning, kissed my husband Jackson, got out of bed, and headed to the kitchen to prepare
breakfast for us and our son Jackson Jr. (JJ), as we like to call him.
We’ve been married for ten years. Last summer we moved here on Merritt
Lane, a gated apartment complex in Rutherford, New Jersey. The streets are lined with maple and poplar trees. The
historic brownstones resemble those in uptown Harlem, New York.
We moved here to shelter JJ from the rough urban communities that we both grew up in. This community was
a montage of ethnic groups. There were delicatessens, Italian restaurants, and old bodega’s The smells of
Hispanic food seeping into the streets and awakening my senses, mixed with the smells of
meatballs and spaghetti from the Italian eatery was almost to much to absorb. We loved the rich mixed culture of this
neighborhood.
The first neighbor to greet us was Mr. Walters across the street. He was a senior citizen living with his wife
Agnes. They didn’t get out much, but waved at us from their front window. The next neighbor was a bit strange
in that he never spoke and would often look away when he caught you making eye contact.. He appeared to be a
middle aged man who lived alone and had no friends or family to speak of. Jackson and I often talked about how lonely
he must be rattling around in that big apartment by himself. We never saw anyone coming or going so we thought to
ourselves, how sad. Then there were the Nichol’s who lived two complexes down. They had two children, two cats
and a large German Shepard that barked when ever he heard the children playing.
As time went on, we became friends with everyone except Mr.Peters, the strange neighbor that lived across the street.
He watch everyone on the block as though he was the self appointed neighborhood watch. He could
often be seen walking down the quiet tree lined street after dark softly humming a tune and not making eye contact
with anyone passing by.
One morning after Jackson left to drop JJ at school and make his way to work, I noticed Mr. Peters staring through
his living room window directly across to my front door. I waved to let him know I saw him, and expected him
to return the wave, perhaps with a smile. Sadly, there was neither a smile or a wave. I closed the door. walked
back into the apartment and began watering the plants hanging in front of the huge picture window. I had made a
large apple sauce crumb cake and decided maybe now would be the perfect time to take him some cake and extend
the olive branch of friendship.
I threw on a pair of gray slacks, pulled my hair up in a pony tail and rubbed on a small amount of pink blush lipstick.
I walked out the kitchen door and headed across the street to introduce myself to the elusive neighbor Mr. Peters.
I cleared my throat, mustered an ounce of courage to walk across the street and ring the bell.
He opened the door and glared at me, looking deep into my eyes past the optic lens and the retina that reflects light,
and into what felt like my soul.
“Mr. Peters, hi, I’m your neighbor from across the street. My name is Samantha Crosby. I just wanted to introduce
myself. I baked an apple sauce cake and brought you some as a way to say welcome.”
He continued to stare for a moment and then his gaze softened.
“Thank you. Would you like to come in?” He asked.
“Well, I don’t want to intrude, I just wanted to introduce myself and welcome you to the neighborhood.”
“I tell you what Ms. Samantha Crosby, if you come in for a moment so we can get acquainted, I promise to try this
cake right now.” He said, as a smile broke through.
I suddenly felt the wall of fear and anxiety I had been feeling begin to crumble. What could it hurt to cross his
threshold and be neighborly for just a few moments.
I walked in and noticed how sterile his apartment looked. There wasn’t much furniture in the living room. No pictures
on the walls, and no plants hanging. I hadn’t noticed a woman coming or going so I assumed he was probably
single. From the looks of things I was right. Thick gray drapes hung from the large living room windows, as if to hide
the few pieces of furniture that lined the walls. A stale smell circulated the room and assaulted my senses. The walls
were painted a drab color of green. This place could certainly use a woman’s touch. He pulled out a bottle of chilled
Bellingers Red Moscato wine from the refrigerator and slowly poured two glasses of wine.
“Please join me. I really appreciate you coming over and bringing this delicious cake.” He said.
The smile widened, as he stared at me with a piercing gaze. We began talking and soon I felt myself
relax. I found out that he was divorced and had moved here from North Carolina. Moments later the wine began
to take affect. I felt the floor soften under my feet. I tried to stand but my knees began wobbling. I thought that
now was as good a time as any to thank him for his hospitality and head back across the street.
Suddenly I couldn’t stand. I edged my way over to the couch and lowered myself onto the soft blue cushions. What’s
happening I thought. I only had one glass of wine. This was embarrassing. I stared at him wanting to apologize
for how ridiculous I must look. I saw something sinister in his eyes. The smile was gone.
I reached for the couch as I tried to steady myself. Darkness began to fill the room, slowly causing his face to
disappear. I heard laughter in the distance. I tried to scream, yell, walk, but darkness over took me.
“Oh God, what’s happening?” I heard myself utter.
My hands and feet were bound tightly. I could feel pain shooting from my ankles to my legs. Where am I?
I tried to remember what had taken place. One moment I was sipping a glass of wine, and the next I’m tide and
bound in a dark room. What was he going to do to me? Why didn’t I fight back?
“Help me God.” I screamed.
No one answered. This had to be a nightmare that would soon end.
Suddenly, the sound of a door creaking and a tiny glimmer of light seeped through the dark space. I screamed,
I yelled, I cried.
A moment of silence, and then the smell of cigarettes and wine infiltrated the room. Foot steps came closer towards
me. I yelled one last time, as I felt something hit my head. Darkness enveloped me with the warmth of a passionate
lover. I had to get out of here, but how?
The sound of a fire engine blaring through the street awakened me. I tried to move, but my hands and feet were still
bound. Silence surrounded me.
Suddenly the sounds of screams filled the air around me. Something was on fire, I could smell the smoke.
A loud bang seem to shake the room. I could hear voices in the distance.
“Is anyone here?” someone yelled.
“Help, please help.” I yelled back. I inched along the wall hoping I’d somehow reach a door. Smoke began to fill the
room.
“Help” I continued to yell.
The smell of smoke began choking me. I couldn’t catch my breath.
“Over here” I heard someone yell as I gave in to the darkness as I felt myself being lifted.
It’s cold here. I can’t move. My hands and feet are bound. I’m screaming but no one hears. I’m next door.
I’m hidden in my neighbors apartment praying that someone comes looking for me.
I woke up this morning, kissed my husband Jackson, got out of bed, and headed to the kitchen to prepare
breakfast for us and our son Jackson Jr. (JJ), as we like to call him.
We’ve been married for ten years. Last summer we moved here on Merritt
Lane, a gated apartment complex in Rutherford, New Jersey. The streets are lined with maple and poplar trees. The
historic brownstones resemble those in uptown Harlem, New York.
We moved here to shelter JJ from the rough urban communities that we both grew up in. This community was
a montage of ethnic groups. There were delicatessens, Italian restaurants, and old bodega’s The smells of
Hispanic food seeping into the streets and awakening my senses, mixed with the smells of
meatballs and spaghetti from the Italian eatery was almost to much to absorb. We loved the rich mixed culture of this
neighborhood.
The first neighbor to greet us was Mr. Walters across the street. He was a senior citizen living with his wife
Agnes. They didn’t get out much, but waved at us from their front window. The next neighbor was a bit strange
in that he never spoke and would often look away when he caught you making eye contact.. He appeared to be a
middle aged man who lived alone and had no friends or family to speak of. Jackson and I often talked about how lonely
he must be rattling around in that big apartment by himself. We never saw anyone coming or going so we thought to
ourselves, how sad. Then there were the Nichol’s who lived two complexes down. They had two children, two cats
and a large German Shepard that barked when ever he heard the children playing.
As time went on, we became friends with everyone except Mr.Peters, the strange neighbor that lived across the street.
He watch everyone on the block as though he was the self appointed neighborhood watch. He could
often be seen walking down the quiet tree lined street after dark softly humming a tune and not making eye contact
with anyone passing by.
One morning after Jackson left to drop JJ at school and make his way to work, I noticed Mr. Peters staring through
his living room window directly across to my front door. I waved to let him know I saw him, and expected him
to return the wave, perhaps with a smile. Sadly, there was neither a smile or a wave. I closed the door. walked
back into the apartment and began watering the plants hanging in front of the huge picture window. I had made a
large apple sauce crumb cake and decided maybe now would be the perfect time to take him some cake and extend
the olive branch of friendship.
I threw on a pair of gray slacks, pulled my hair up in a pony tail and rubbed on a small amount of pink blush lipstick.
I walked out the kitchen door and headed across the street to introduce myself to the elusive neighbor Mr. Peters.
I cleared my throat, mustered an ounce of courage to walk across the street and ring the bell.
He opened the door and glared at me, looking deep into my eyes past the optic lens and the retina that reflects light,
and into what felt like my soul.
“Mr. Peters, hi, I’m your neighbor from across the street. My name is Samantha Crosby. I just wanted to introduce
myself. I baked an apple sauce cake and brought you some as a way to say welcome.”
He continued to stare for a moment and then his gaze softened.
“Thank you. Would you like to come in?” He asked.
“Well, I don’t want to intrude, I just wanted to introduce myself and welcome you to the neighborhood.”
“I tell you what Ms. Samantha Crosby, if you come in for a moment so we can get acquainted, I promise to try this
cake right now.” He said, as a smile broke through.
I suddenly felt the wall of fear and anxiety I had been feeling begin to crumble. What could it hurt to cross his
threshold and be neighborly for just a few moments.
I walked in and noticed how sterile his apartment looked. There wasn’t much furniture in the living room. No pictures
on the walls, and no plants hanging. I hadn’t noticed a woman coming or going so I assumed he was probably
single. From the looks of things I was right. Thick gray drapes hung from the large living room windows, as if to hide
the few pieces of furniture that lined the walls. A stale smell circulated the room and assaulted my senses. The walls
were painted a drab color of green. This place could certainly use a woman’s touch. He pulled out a bottle of chilled
Bellingers Red Moscato wine from the refrigerator and slowly poured two glasses of wine.
“Please join me. I really appreciate you coming over and bringing this delicious cake.” He said.
The smile widened, as he stared at me with a piercing gaze. We began talking and soon I felt myself
relax. I found out that he was divorced and had moved here from North Carolina. Moments later the wine began
to take affect. I felt the floor soften under my feet. I tried to stand but my knees began wobbling. I thought that
now was as good a time as any to thank him for his hospitality and head back across the street.
Suddenly I couldn’t stand. I edged my way over to the couch and lowered myself onto the soft blue cushions. What’s
happening I thought. I only had one glass of wine. This was embarrassing. I stared at him wanting to apologize
for how ridiculous I must look. I saw something sinister in his eyes. The smile was gone.
I reached for the couch as I tried to steady myself. Darkness began to fill the room, slowly causing his face to
disappear. I heard laughter in the distance. I tried to scream, yell, walk, but darkness over took me.
“Oh God, what’s happening?” I heard myself utter.
My hands and feet were bound tightly. I could feel pain shooting from my ankles to my legs. Where am I?
I tried to remember what had taken place. One moment I was sipping a glass of wine, and the next I’m tide and
bound in a dark room. What was he going to do to me? Why didn’t I fight back?
“Help me God.” I screamed.
No one answered. This had to be a nightmare that would soon end.
Suddenly, the sound of a door creaking and a tiny glimmer of light seeped through the dark space. I screamed,
I yelled, I cried.
A moment of silence, and then the smell of cigarettes and wine infiltrated the room. Foot steps came closer towards
me. I yelled one last time, as I felt something hit my head. Darkness enveloped me with the warmth of a passionate
lover. I had to get out of here, but how?
The sound of a fire engine blaring through the street awakened me. I tried to move, but my hands and feet were still
bound. Silence surrounded me.
Suddenly the sounds of screams filled the air around me. Something was on fire, I could smell the smoke.
A loud bang seem to shake the room. I could hear voices in the distance.
“Is anyone here?” someone yelled.
“Help, please help.” I yelled back. I inched along the wall hoping I’d somehow reach a door. Smoke began to fill the
room.
“Help” I continued to yell.
The smell of smoke began choking me. I couldn’t catch my breath.
“Over here” I heard someone yell as I gave in to the darkness as I felt myself being lifted.
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